


Never the Romantic

by Nyruserra



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, The Burrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyruserra/pseuds/Nyruserra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Viktor understands the real-life meanings of romance</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never the Romantic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NephthysMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephthysMoon/gifts).



> This story was written as a holiday gift for my dearling, nephthysmoon for being such an indispensable and squee-worthy friend and beta <3 _Do we actually write things that aren't for each other?_ Only for you would I attempt Ginny's voice. Hopefully, I didn't do too badly!
> 
> There are small tie-ins with Consequentially Yours, but is definitely a stand alone piece.
> 
> Also, many hugs and lots of Viktor cookies are due to blackclaude for her amazing and timely beta *hugs*

**Never the Romantic**

-..-

 _She_ _’s Charlie’s little sister_ , he reminded himself firmly; a man he had come to respect immensely over the last year and a half.  
A fact that would surely get him hexed if he even contemplated what he was currently trying to ignore.

And surely, a girl fully four years his junior should not look that tempting, right?

He watched, unable to look away, as she finished her conversation across the Atrium, and with a smile he found impossible to interpret, turned to the banks of fireplaces, ready to connect waiting witches and wizards to the Floo Network. Just before the flames took her, she deliberately caught his eye, and sent him a casual wink to let him know she knew he was there; the saucy look telling him she’d be more than willing to discuss his problems, if only he were willing to set aside his bothersome feelings of gentlemanly conduct.

He groaned, fighting the urge to bang his forehead against the nearest wall as he struggled to remind himself what Charlie could possibly have to do with anything right now.

It had all started out innocently enough. He’d run into her at the Three Broomsticks one blustery afternoon, a cheeky slip of a sprite who kept him grinning for hours as a chance meeting on the street quickly escalated to a lunch invitation, ending only when he realized he had an evening meeting with his agent that he couldn’t miss. The strange feelings she’d engendered had been compounded when he’d run into her again not two weeks later at Hermione’s home, and he found, no matter what he tried, that he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering in her direction. He was sure he was being embarrassingly obvious. Her youngest brother kept glaring at him, looking like he would at something found crawling at the bottom of his cocoa, and he was startled when he realised his sense of déjà vu was because he had been in this receiving position before, during the fiasco that was the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Still he couldn’t seem to stop himself from betraying his thoughts, and when she kept flushing, and casting meaningful looks at her older brother Charlie, Viktor had thought he was quickly going to be asked outside for his less than gentlemanly behaviour, and braced himself for the man’s likely angry words when he walked by him.

He was doubly confused, therefore, when Charlie shot him an amused smirk, and proceeded to distract the one who seemed to think of him as a bug.

He was confused by his good fortune, but decided not to protest it when later that evening a delightfully warm Ginny, with a murmured explanation of _“Mistletoe”_ , proved to be incredibly soft against his lips, though he was fairly certain she must have been confused, as he looked after she had glided past, and there was no trace of the dark green plant hanging above him.

He should have known then, honestly, that in the end, he never held a chance, and in the five years since, she had proven it to him many times.

-..-

Frankly, he wasn’t so concerned about the ring. It was an heirloom, one that his mother had held for him until he was ready; a beautifully reflective square-cut peridot embedded in a band of white gold. No fancy settings, no diamonds, just a simple, elegant band to showcase the equally elegant stone. In that, at least, he didn’t have to think so much, and worry about making the wrong decision. The green would look like the finest jewel on her winter-pale and summer-tanned skin, and bring out the same colour in her hazel eyes. The more Viktor thought of it, the better he was pleased - it had been his grandmother’s, a stern woman whom Viktor had very few and all very intimidating, memories of….

Perhaps it was best not to think on that, either.

No, the ring didn’t worry him. His gift for Ginny’s birthday however, worried him a great deal.

Hermione tried to be tactful, suggesting that maybe Marianna hadn’t the same taste as Ginny, but Viktor only took this to mean that the red silk blouse his sister had talked him into buying would, when seen against the red of her hair, perhaps barely qualify to wear to a Flobber worm farm, and he’d begun to panic again.

Somehow, though he wasn’t really sure, as romantic stuff usually seemed very mysterious and foreign to him, it didn’t seem like an auspicious start to his future if he couldn’t at least manage to prove he could find a gift she would like for something as simple as her birthday, and in his panicked state, it seemed to take on even greater importance than perhaps it warranted.

Hermione’s suggestions of such were tactful, too.

So he asked, awkwardly, for Hermione’s help in finding the _right_ gift, an experience that was made even more embarrassing by the presence of fellow Quidditch associate, Oliver Wood. But though Oliver gave him a few amused glances, they seemed to hold a fair bit of understanding too when he looked to his own brunette wife, and Viktor was thankful he was at least to be spared any further teasing. He always felt at a disadvantage when such teasing was done in English anyway.

After a moment which she had spent staring unhelpfully, in Viktor’s opinion, at some kind of braided crown made of white flowers, carefully dried and displayed on the mantle, and of all things looking very unlike something Hermione would keep about her home, she looked to Oliver. With one seemingly significant glance, Hermione seemed to convey her wishes to her husband of several years and he smiled and said he would go and see if maybe a ‘Michael’ was around, since Hermione was obviously going to be busy. Though Viktor was at a loss to explain how it was done, he dreamed of one day having that kind of communication with Ginny, but he feared he would prove as clumsy in that as he was in his normal conversation.

Shopping with Hermione proved to be a much different experience than shopping with Marianna had been. There were far fewer clothing stores, for one thing, and no horribly smelly perfumes that made his head ache for another, but by the time they were done, he was much more confident.

He was back to the clubhouse before curfew, thankfully. He got the much-fretted-over gift packaged, and sent it off with one of the club’s owls, wanting it to be there for her tomorrow, and knowing he wouldn’t see her for another few days.

There was only one more game until the end of what was going to be his last season, and surprisingly, Viktor found he wasn’t nearly as upset as he would have once thought.

He had pondered on it long into each night, but he knew it was the right decision. There was too much conflict; conflicting loyalties, conflicting schedules, and he worried that someday, it might be conflicting goals. It had amazed him how easily the decision had come to him – he had never thought to give up the one thing that made him graceful, that made him beautiful, even. On the ground he was awkward and clumsy, with limbs that never seemed to be doing quite what he told them to; but in the air, Viktor Krum was the epitome of control. It was something he had never thought he could be, and once finding it was so, the first time he got on a broom, he thought he would not willingly leave it.

But here he was, retiring from Quidditch, reflecting that, though early, he was nearing the end of his career while Ginny was still in her peak years. He would coach one day, but not until she had retired her broom. In the meantime, he would bear their friends’ teasing on his new status as a kept man with equanimity, knowing that for her, it was well worth it. It would perhaps be an unusual home, but then, with Ginny’s home games and no competing schedules, there would be time for them, instead of only the few months that they both had off at the end of each season, and that was infinitely better.

Unfortunately for him, this still left him with three more torturous and nerve-wracked days to get through until he could see his red-haired sprite again, and the company of his own hand was getting unattractive rapidly.

His discomfort was his own fault, he supposed. Desperate for a distraction, by the second restless night he had been driven to try the book Hermione had pressed on him before leaving her highland home. Granted, she had tucked the novel very securely in a brown paper bag, telling him that it was for Ginny, in return for the favour, she had said. He had assumed it had something to do with a book lent long ago, or some such item of nostalgia in a friendship as long as theirs. He hadn’t seen any harm in checking, figuring he could count on his friend for a nice distracting book, possibly featuring history, or new magical theory, with long, torturous words that he would have to follow with his finger on the page as he sounded each out painfully, with all of his attention.

What he’d found was … not what he would expect from Hermione.

A lurid cover, a suggestive title… it was truly as trashy as the ones that had, at a certain age, disappeared from his sisters’ hands whenever he had wandered by.

He read it anyway. _It vas like poking sore tooth. Something this horrible just couldn’t be ignored, somehow._  
He was familiar with these types of novels, though he still wasn’t sure he understood the attraction. _Why read fanciful descriptions about love with men who were hung in such a vay as to be physically incompatible vit real-life women? Or_ romanticise the idea of an ‘ideal’ love that seemed to have the emotional depth of a three-day evaporated puddle? Real love came from living through difficulties together. Not external ones, but the ones that arose when one had to face what a not-nice person was lurking deep down, the one you were ashamed of.

 _And vot vos vit all the raking? If I ran hands through hair that much,_ _I vould have to find very good potions master to fix imminent hair loss_. Somehow, he didn’t want to find out if Ginny would still love him if he were bald.

By chapter six, he knew that he would never understand a woman’s idea of romance.

Ginny’s skin wasn’t white as milk, or ethereally transparent, as was apparently lauded by the men in the book. He didn’t understand this oft-admired quality of translucency in a women’s skin; sometimes described as giving the lady fair in question a porcelain glow.

It sounded all well and good on the page, he supposed, but what it also did, in Viktor’s limited experience, was show a lot of faint blue veins, just below the surface.

But even more than that, it was the fact that such amazing complexion and pale beauty was only the result of spending an inordinate amount of time indoors that he found positively abhorrent. _Vhat – to borrow expression from Veasley – the bloody hell did girl do?_ No wind on her face, no sun to kiss her - and definitely no flying. It was incomprehensible.

Ginny’s skin was a glowing testament to how she lived her life: to the fullest, with energy and unabashed enjoyment. It was tanned, sometimes even bronzed in the height of the season when the summer sun baked her on her broom. Her cheeks were wind-chapped at least three seasons of the year, and her lips were sometimes dry if she hadn’t had the time to apply her simple moisturizers or chap, and her hands were callused, and browned to the wrist almost permanently.

But her wide green eyes sparkled with mischief, and her hands were strong and supple on his body when she chose, and she looked like a goddess to him, fully alive in each and every moment.

Her lips taste like wine, he read. _But that is also not vot they really mean,_ for Viktor had kissed a number of girls in his time, and none of them had ever tasted of that dry, tannin-y taste he associated with good wines. No, what they should say is that her lips should be indulged like fine, aged wine, and that like the most expensive Armagnacs, were a rare and completely unique taste that could only be savoured over and over again for the heady feeling they bestowed. _That_ was something he could understand.  
And don’t even get him started one page 267…. He was fairly certain even with Ginny’s determined creativity, such a thing vould not be possible.

Just as well, as no man would have that kind of stamina anyway.

-..-

August 14th found him where he had wanted to be all season, sweaty and nervous. She was rushing to meet him, coming through the gate, and her eyes were sparkling and warm and her arms were like small vices when she reached him, her love nearly a physical thing as she touched him for the first time in months.

For once, Mrs. Weasley seemed to be nowhere about, though it seemed to Viktor that she was always hovering about, watching him with careful eyes so that he rarely was able to steal any time alone with Ginny. The unexpected pleasure of this privacy had him dropping his bags in the dusty lane, and pulling her closer, even lifting her up a little in his enthusiasm, though when he noticed, he did try to put her down again; Ginny, it seemed had other ideas and eventually he gave up.

His grandmother’s ring was heavy in his pocket with wanting to see it on her finger, after much dreaming; but her lips were soft on his, tasting of all the lonely nights and missed days since their last stolen holiday, and Viktor decided that maybe it could wait just a little while longer.

“Viktor,” she breathed, pulling her mouth from his, much to his displeasure. When she began instead to pepper his neck and jaw with little kisses, he decided not to complain. Her body was moving restlessly against his, and he was developing a rather embarrassing problem to have in the middle of her front yard. For now, it was only a few pecking chickens which seemed content to ignore his reaction, but he could just imagine his luck bringing Mrs. Weasley into the lane to witness it. He groaned, trying to gently disentangle himself from Ginny’s small body, but quickly gave up when her hands began doing wicked things to his nipples through his shirt. Apparently, she had found the time apart difficult, too.

“Does you’re dad still haff garage?” he asked hoarsely, knowing he was giving in, but not able to summon the will to care too much, as he bent down to trail his tongue and lips across the shell of her ear, nipping in ways he knew she liked.

He decided to take her moan as an affirmative, because frankly, if the garage wasn’t still there, he might just have been forced to give the chickens a real show. It was awkward carrying her across the yard when she was doing her best to distract him; at least, it would have been if he wasn’t too single-mindedly focused to notice, but the sight of the looming structure of Arthur Weasley’s garage made him sigh with relief.

Viktor barely noticed the coolness of the building, out of the sun as it was, as he concentrated on carrying the squirming Ginny past the threshold. Shelves upon shelves of strange Muggle artefacts lay in all their dusty glory before him, but Viktor had no interest in them as he looked for a flat surface; any kind of surface, really. Haphazard piles of pronged devices glinted rustily back at him and he quickly settled for the boot of the car that Mr. Weasley was so proud of. Two years ago, he had spent an entire evening trapped out here, while his girlfriend’s father had shown far more of this incomprehensible machine than he felt any sane Wizard would want, but at the moment, he was thinking that perhaps he might be able to develop more fond feelings for it. The boot was slightly rounded, and Ginny’s bottom tended to slide down a little, forcing her more tightly against places he most definitely wanted her to become reacquainted with, preferably in the next few minutes, and his fondness began to stretch to the whole building.

Reaching for the wand in his robe pocket, Viktor had the door shut and locked in moments. The locking spell was one he’d had to become inventive with, as Fred and George Weasley were far too clever in their pranks for Viktor’s blood pressure to take.  
The clatter of the wand as it hit the floor was loud, when the only sound between them was their rather laboured breathing, but he hardly noticed it. He shrugged out of his robe, and pulled his t-shirt, emblazoned with his club affiliation, over his head, throwing it to the floor in a fluid movement. Only with Ginny did he ever feel this graceful, this coordinated at anything other than Quidditch. Ginny had tangled her hands in his thick hair, forcing his head back and exposing his neck and collarbone to her. Using the back bumper for leverage, she pushed herself up the length of his body, making sure he felt every inch of her as she slid past. The friction created by their clothing made his skin itch, and he was desperate to have the material off. Her tongue was leaving hot trails along his jaw, behind his ear and along the line of tendon in his neck as she nipped and licked her way across his skin.  
“Ginny,” he groaned, cupping her arse hard as she stood against him. He kneaded the flesh there, enjoying the way it pulled her against him more firmly, and the low whimper when he stopped. He smirked, knowingly. “Is time to get rid of these, yes?” he asked, as he reached for the button.

Her cotton shorts fell away easily under his hands, leaving her in her cute ringer t-shirt and lacy underwear, and he smiled. “I am luckiest man aliffe,” he murmured, running his hands along the incredibly smooth skin of her thighs. He began tracing his fingers from freckle to freckle, slowly making his way higher, resisting the urge to take his path to the inside of her thighs instead. He knew she didn’t like these marks, especially how flying in the summer only made more of them, but he needed her to know he loved all of her, especially when he was being so forceful; he had spent an entire evening last year just finding and kissing every one of her sun freckles. The process had taken over a couple of hours, and had ended in the most enjoyable shared bath of his life, but he didn’t have that kind of patience today. Nether did Ginny, if her squirming was any indication, and when he finally reached her hips, she was panting softly.

Sunlight filtered in through the high windows, diffused by the dust in the air until it reached them as no more than a haze, picking out the coppery sun streaks in Ginny’s hair and making her glow. He knew his fingers had been calloused by years of broom riding, his touch roughened and not having the smooth feel that was romanticised in the books, but she didn’t seem to care as he hooked them into the edge of the green lace, and encouraged her to give a little wiggle to help them down. Bracing both palms on his shoulders, she lifted one long leg to kick them teasingly to join his wand on the floor. “Better?” she giggled, taking care to take his earlobe between her teeth, and he felt himself throb in those same embarrassing places from before.

Roughly, because he had no patience for gentle, not when she was deliberately goading him, he reached between her legs, fingers splayed across her firm arse. He pushed his thumb between her slick folds and along the full length of her pussy before rubbing hard little circles over her clit.

She gasped, pressing her cotton-covered breasts into him as she did, and pulled his hair, hard. The sharp sensation only heightened his urgency, and he groaned and pressed harder, enjoying a purely masculine sense of pride at the wetness that allowed his thumb to glide in smooth circles. “I vant to hear you, loff,” he growled, knowing how much she liked to hear him when he got this way. He was rarely rough, preferring to love her in every sense he could, but when he did find himself overcome, his devilish goddess like to push him hard, seemed to enjoy his less than noble, baser needs.

Her keening was low in her throat, and her legs began to quiver, and he could feel her hard nipples against his chest, through the material of her shirt, like tiny pebbles. He felt her grip on his shoulders tightening, and he knew he’d have neat little bruises come evening, and the knowledge made him shudder with pleasure at the idea of being so marked. His free hand that had been steadying her waist grabbed the hem of her shirt instead, pushing the fabric out of his way until he could cup one of her pert breasts in his hand, pushing the material of her bra aside. He ran his other thumb over her nipple, lightly at first, enjoying her highly sensitised reactions, only allowing himself to start rolling it between his fingers when she had calmed to his touch. She was close, her legs no longer quivering so much as shaking, and her balance on the narrow bumper was becoming precarious as she reached for something she couldn’t quite touch. He enjoyed her frustration.

“Not yet, loff,” he told her, and chuckled when she used a closed fist to smack him.

“Bastard,” she glared at him, but he could see her excitement beneath her sour expression.

Lowering his head, he took her nipple in his mouth greedily, sucking hard until she threw her head back and moaned, the sound heavy with desperation, “I need… oh Merlin, I need –”

“I know. Ven I am ready,” he said, allowing her to grind against his hand unrestrained for only a moment before he removed his hands from her backside and breast and took her hips. He stilled their relentless movement, tugging her down gently until her bare skin made contact with the cool metal of the boot. The temperature made little goose bumps appear along her arms, and she shivered slightly before he pushed her to lie back. Propping herself on her elbows, she watched as he knelt before her, never taking his gaze away from hers as he took her calves in his hands and placed them deliberately over his shoulders. The t-shirt was ruched around her chest, still baring one breast to the air as she lay spread out before him, looking thoroughly wanton and incredibly sexy covered in a light sheen of perspiration.

Her moans of anticipation, meant to hurry him up, he knew, instead gave him perverse pleasure in being deliberately slow as he dragged his nose along the inside of her thigh and savoured the musky scent now coating her skin. When he finally reached the source of her frustrations, he looked up at her, catching her irritated glare over the rise of her body, and winked. “Like Armagnac,” he whispered.

Her strangled curse was cut off with the first swipe of his tongue, and they both groaned. Taking the time to taste her, he blew lightly across her hot skin before slowly running his tongue along the entire length of her. She shivered, and tried to entwine her fingers into his hair, to force him to give attention where she wanted it most, and his body ached at her obvious frustration. He couldn’t help but reach down and lightly brush his cock through his trousers, trying to relieve a bit of his tension. The slight friction made him moan and the vibrations against her sensitive flesh made Ginny writhe. “Viktor, quit fucking with me,” she demanded, breathlessly.

Something snapped, and this time he went about it in earnest, trailing his finger around her opening only briefly before pushing it inside, using only slight force to get past her instinctive urge to tighten around the intrusion. He was breathing heavily, no longer having the patience for his game, but not willing to stop just yet. The feel of her muscles squeezing his finger as he gently forced it through their vice was quickly driving him mad, and all he could imagine was the velvety wet grip she would have on his cock. Slowly, he dragged the digit back, listening to her moans become whimpers as he slowed his pace, watching her eyes scrunch shut and her mouth fall open as she panted, and somehow the ridiculous images from the book came to him. _Clearly, these people had neffer experienced someone like Ginny._

Thrusting two fingers this time, he carefully bit her highly swollen clit, and almost came when she screamed in surprised pleasure. He jerked away from her and stood up, fumbling awkwardly with his zip. _So much for controlled and collected. I do not think I vould do so vell in book, either._ Ginny lay back on her elbows again, and watched with impatient amusement, one long leg bent provocatively, encouraging his view, and when the little metal track became thoroughly stuck, Viktor thought he might implode. “Fuck it,” he snarled, ripping the fabric instead. Ginny’s tinkling laughter only made him glare as he pushed both the offending trousers and his boxers to the floor in one swift movement, kicking off his shoes in the process.

All his blood was now completely centred in the lower part of his body, and the tight hardness of his cock felt like it might be burning from within. The cool air on his over-heated skin gave a small edge of relief, made him feel like his skin was only two sizes too small, instead of six. When Ginny reached for him, her hand calloused in its own right but still somehow softer than his, his knees nearly buckled. She ran her fingers down his shaft, and then did something with her thumb across the head that had his vision swimming. “Lick it,” he bit out, his jaw clenched.

Ginny merely raised one playful eyebrow, and very deliberately repeated her trick with her thumb. Her eyes glittered, never leaving his, and she smirked before gathering the dripping pre-come and swiping it from her finger with a cat-like tongue. Viktor growled, warningly, and bent slightly to grab her hips, tugging her down to sit on the narrow strip of the bumper. Her bare toes swirled in the dust on the floor, the cute pink nail polish peeking at him provocatively as he looked down on her, smirking lazily as he wove his hands into her hair. His grip allowed him to angle her head to his satisfaction, and her own hands rose up to steady herself against his hips when he thrust forward gently, bringing the tip of his cock to rest lightly against her parted lips.

She drew him in slowly, no doubt paying him back in some small measure for all of his teasing, and the feeling of her mouth on him had him swearing roughly, the string of Bulgarian profanities providing additional release as the pleasure threatened to become too much. Her tongue was nearly an overwhelming pressure as she teased the rim just under the head, causing him to throw back his head and shout hoarsely. Very carefully, Ginny ran her teeth over his length, scraping delicately along the head before soothing it with her tongue, twirling the very tip through the dripping pre-come until it pulled away in a glistening filament when she sat back. Viktor lunged forward, licking the traces from her swollen lips as he slid both hands under her and boosted her back onto the boot in one smooth movement, never releasing her mouth.

“Now, damnit,” Ginny hissed between clenched teeth, curling her legs around his hips and trying to force him closer. Her chest bounced a bit as she panted, and he slid his hands across the soft skin along her ribs to push her falling shirt out of his way, not bothering to completely remove it before his mouth was on her chest again. She arched in his arms, his hands braced along the small of her back and between her shoulder blades as she pushed herself closer, and locked her ankles just under his ass, and a quick decision had her dragged until she was perched on the very edge of the faded blue boot, and in one hard movement, he pushed his way inside her.

The pain of her teeth as she bit his shoulder was strangely enjoyable, though he was startled by the action. Ginny wasn’t normally a biter, but right then he thought he might have to talk to her about changing that. He didn’t bother with allowing her to adjust to him once they were joined, instead pulling her against him until he was buried so deep he felt he might be able to brand his touch inside her. For a long moment, he resisted her urges to thrust, using his greater strength just keeping her body pulled tight to his so that the space between where they joined was nonexistent. “Viktor, please!” she begged crossly.

He ignored her, completely focused on the scent of her surrounding him. She smelled like the outdoors; fresh grass and sunshine, mixed with peaches, and he recognised the scent of the expensive lotions that Hermione had helped him pick out, saying something about SPF’s and UVA’s and mineral content, or something equally incomprehensible. She was still a Muggle at heart, he had supposed dubiously, because he was fairly sure it wasn’t a girl thing.

But it appeared that she was right, because Ginny was obviously wearing it, and in the end he supposed something that Hermione told him would help protect her skin from her outdoor profession was far more practical than a low-cut sparkly blouse.  
He inhaled heavily, letting his senses be filled with it, filled with _her_ , from the silky feeling of her sex-dampened hair as it trailed against his cheek, to her wet heat tightening around his cock. “ _Obicham te_ ,” he groaned his love desperately against her neck as he began to flex his hips, rocking so deep within her body, he thought he might be hurting her. It took all of his concentration to keep the motion smooth, to resist the urge to give in to the violence of his feelings and drive his body against hers in bruising abandon. Instead, he kept them joined deeply as he ground his pubic bone against her clit with each tight circle of his hips, gasping and unable to stop the clumsy torrent of words as he lost himself completely in her body. “Feel me, loff. _Kakvo iskash_ – vot do you vant?”

“Oh god,” she whimpered, seemingly past coherency as her whole body began to shake at his words. Her hands fluttered helplessly against her breasts, not able to really focus enough to relieve the ache that was building from his insistent movements.

He loved this moment, when she was completely bare to him. It was difficult to always trust that he knew what was going on; he was prone to missing social nuances at the best of times, and his English was clumsy, and sometimes he worried that he didn’t know what Ginny was really thinking, that he would miss something she was trying to tell him; but right now, her whole body spoke to him. The way her skin glowed, the look of love in her wide hazel eyes, and no matter how rough their joining, this moment was always about love that was only for him; the tenderness that was evident in her touch, even when it left bruises.

-..-

She fixed the damage he’d done to her bra, and pulled her shirt back down so it rested once again just below her belly button, and when she bent to pull her pale green underwear up her long legs, Viktor had the sudden urge to keep her in her state of semi-dress for the rest of their lives.

He took her arm when she went to move away. “Just stay like that,” he told her when she looked back curiously.  
“Viktor,” she whined playfully, but stayed as he asked, though the look she was giving him told him she thought he was being foolish.

Quickly he grabbed his wand, and with a quick “ _Reparo_ ” had his trousers fastened once again, the heavy weight in the pocket making him nervous, despite his determination. He settled himself on the car, resting his bare feet on the bumper, and snaked one arm around Ginny’s waist. She giggled as he pulled her to stand between his legs, her back resting against his bare chest, her bare legs against his trousered ones, and he leaned forward to rest his chin on her shoulder.

For a long moment, he just held her, absorbing the warmth of her skin. He felt clumsy again; he was not a man of words, relying on his actions to show Ginny all the things he wished he could say directly, relying on them being enough to convey the things that words never seemed adequate, at least in his mouth, to explain. Unsure of what words he could possibly find that would be good enough, in the end, he settled for something natural.

He slipped the box from his pocket, and drew Ginny in even closer, so that both hands were encircling her small waist now. He waited patiently until she looked down, and he knew he had her complete attention when he felt her small gasp from her back against his chest. With two shaking fingers, he deftly snapped the catch, a move he’d practiced patiently before a mirror at the clubhouse, worried that the clumsiness of his feet would somehow transfer to his normally talented hands, and ruin this most important moment completely.

The band shone in the hazy light, somehow seeming even brighter for the dimness of the background, but the stone itself was nearly glowing, and for a long moment, he just let her stare at it, let her take the moment in, so that when he finally spoke he was sure she’d had a chance to make her decision.

“I may not be right man for you, loff, but I am selfish enough to take you, even if fate vere to come down and say this is not right thing, because she vould be wrong.

“I try harder; harder than any man could, because I am not right. And somehow, you make me enough, though I neffer haff been before, and I am hoping you vill allow me to be enough for you until ve are old and in rocking chairs on porch somewhere.”  
Inwardly, he wanted to slap his hand to his face. As romantic proposals went, he was fairly sure that one would go down as a negative example. He knew she hated when he talked like that, when he mentioned how he was only ever all the things she saw in him when he was with her, that she _made_ him that man, but right now, he needed her to understand that he would always work hard enough to continue to be that man for her.

Ginny had managed to twist nearly double in his grasp during his musings, so it was with considerable startlement that he realised the things she was doing to him with her mouth and hands even as she scolded him playfully between kisses, and he was forced to wonder, even as he heard the unwelcome voice of Mrs. Molly Weasley drift in from somewhere outside commenting on his abandoned bags in the lane, if perhaps he would have to give some thought to page 267…

They just might be able to pull it off, after all.

When he heard a gasp from the direction of the front yard, he worried that maybe he hadn’t buried the wretched book as deeply in his bag as he might have.

-End-

.

 


End file.
